


Insomnia

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort will come soon, Insomnia, Mention of hospital abuse, Mention of past psych ward abuse, Past references to Thramsay shit, Poor Theon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad and depressing ghetto apartments, Survivors Forming Friendship, Theon and Jeyne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon is still not sure how to live, after the horrors of his past have left him cut into jagged shards. He's lonely, in pain, and can never sleep when the night comes for him.</p><p>One day, a new girl shows up at his dead-end job. They're two kindred spirits, two sensitive souls stuck in the same painful rut. But as they form a soul-saving friendship, the demons of her past linger, waiting to pounce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Theon flung his covers off and bolted upright, sweat dripping from his skin. He’d had the nightmare again. The one where deep, guttural knocks pounded down his door, more and more relentless, until the sound consumed him like jaws and everything turned black around him. The one where disembodied, hollow voices out of hell whispered into his ear, snaking cruel words down to his bones. 

Ramsay was gone, now, but so was Theon’s soul. He had no friends; no family; no savings; no social support. He was scraping by on his midnight-shift job at the convenience store, just enough money to cover the roach-infested moldy apartment he hid in each day, and the meager rations of food that barely sustained him.

He got out of bed and switched on the light. It was too dim, and it always flickered, but it was better than nothing. Theon’s apartment was tiny and bare. He had an inflatable air mattress with blankets reeking of months’ worth of sweat, and no real furniture save for the cardboard box bedside table that held his laptop.

Two months had gone by. Two months since Ramsay had tired of him. Two months since he’d been found in a back alley, barely conscious and naked and bleeding, abandoned. Two months since the county hospital had treated him like a scrap of roadkill and then, after his pathetic suicide attempt, thrown him into the psych ward to rot some more until they, too, cast him aside.

Wind howled outside, and snow rained against his window. Soon he’d have to be at his work shift, the one that ran through the wee hours of the morning. The ice-cold chill of the dead of night crept in through the window. Theon hung his head, suddenly aware of how very alone he was.

He wished, more than anything, that he had a friend. Not even a close friend; just someone he could talk to. His secondhand laptop, the one worthy possession he owned, sat blinking on the cardboard box, but he didn’t have anyone to chat with. Literally not a single soul, anywhere in the world, cared that he existed.

He got up and headed toward the kitchen. A dozen roaches scattered away when he turned the light on, but he was used to it by now. He opened the fridge and stared miserably at its contents: empty, save for a bottle of cheap whiskey and some leftover gas station pizza.

He shut the fridge door and sat back down on the bed, wrapping his arms around himself, as shivers broke out through his whole body. He wished to anything he could sleep, but the pain from his scars and his cuts and his missing fingers and toes ensured that would never happen.

He wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes. Why? Why had he done to the gods, to make the world hate him so? He would give anything, even all the remaining years of his life, just to have one moment of being held or talked with or cared for, by someone who didn’t flinch away disgusted.

The alarm clocked screamed. The monsters of the waking world were calling his name, and he could not shove them away any longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new friend shows up.

The store was empty and dead when Theon got behind the cash register. One of the vending machines had broken down, and buzzed intermittently, like a horde of flies. He leaned back and shut his eyes, wishing he could just go back to sleep and never wake up. Hopefully he’d have plenty of time before the drunken meth addicts wandered in, pissing themselves on the floor and wailing incoherently for their mothers the way they always did at this time of night, in this part of the city. Theon shuddered at the thought that those people were probably in his same shoes, once. How much lower could his own life slide?

He shoved the thought away, and the thoughts of how he’d gone into an employment agency and the recruiters there had flinched at the sight of him. At the sight of his hollow face, his scrawny limbs, his broken teeth, the bandages wrapped forever around his remaining fingers. If only they could see the true horrors of the wounds that lay beneath.

Theon wished the gas station weren’t so cold. He re-stocked the refrigerated shelves with sodas and ice cream, gritting his teeth at the way the freezing air reminded him of his nights in the gutter alone, bleeding to death and barely alive.

The door swung open with more energy than it should. Footsteps came up to him, and then stopped. Theon’s blood curdled. He reached for the knife he kept in his pocket, and turned around slowly, praying to all seven gods that it wasn’t someone here to cause trouble.

But it was just a girl, scrawny and pale with long, dirty brown hair that she’d obviously chewed at the ends. Her eyes bore deep shadows marking the loss of sleep, and she looked weary and worn-down, even though he could tell she was only 20 or so, tops.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “For being late, and for looking so terrible. I got lost, and I almost had a bad run-in a few streets down, and just...oh, god, you don’t want to hear this.” She sounded mortified, and almost on the verge of tears. “This is not a good way to start, I know. But I’ll get better, I promise.”

Theon blinked, feeling baffled. “Um...why apologize to me?”

The girl stared at him with hazel-brown eyes. “You’re the manager, right? Theon Greyjoy?”

Theon shrugged. “Assistant manager--the real boss is Ned, but he never comes in. Um, what can I help you with?” Then he vaguely remembered what Ned had texted him last week, something about hiring a new employee to help with the early morning rush hour traffic. “Wait, you’re the new person, right?”

“Yeah.” She looked relieved. “I’m Jeyne Poole. So, um, what do I do?”

Theon looked her over for a second, at her furrowed brows and the level of anxiety she had over this bullshit job, and he started to laugh. “It’s okay, you can relax. I don’t really give a shit. Here, I’ll make you a slushie on the ice machine.”


	3. Chapter 3

"So what happened?" Jeyne asked. They both sat cross-legged on top of the counter, drinking Slushies under the flickering florescent lights of the store. "I mean, no offense, but you look like shit. Like something awful happened to you. Whatever it is, if you need a friend, you can tell me."

"Really?" Theon looked up quickly. His black eyes met hers. For just a split second, hope glimmered across his face. Not quite hope, but the feeling Jeyne couldn't quite describe--the feeling of when you were cold and alone for so long, but then found a true friend. The feeling that felt like thawing under the sun after a thousand years of darkness.  
But then the expression passed.

"Yeah," Jeyne said. She took a deep suck from her straw, but the slushy was empty. She looked back up at Theon and smiled. "Really."  
"It's a long story," Theon finally said. "Stuff you don't want to hear about."

She reached out, slowly, and touched his arm. Theon closed his eyes and slumped toward her touch. When was the last time he had actually been touched? By Ramsay--the thought made him shudder, no, gods no, he could not think of that. Before that, he'd spent years bluffing around and hooking up with anyone he could, but it wasn't the same. Who had touched him who'd actually loved him? His mother? But she had died, long ago, after decades of mental illness and her divorce from Theon's abusive father Balon. Asha had loved him, in her own way, but she'd never been the hugging type, and she'd been off in the Navy for years now.

"Okay," said Theon. "Whatever--if you really want to know. I got caught up with this jerk, and he really hurt me and I ended up in a low place in life." He paused. Could he really tell Jeyne the depths of what he'd been through? The things that made him wake up in the night wishing he were dead? No. "And then, well, I ended up in some bad places, and now I'm just trying to get back on my feet. So now I'm here." He shrugged. "It beats being a heroin junkie under some bridge, I suppose."

Jeyne laughed. "Oh, honey. I didn't realize that being better off than an addict under a bridge was the measure of success these days." She patted his arm. "Don't worry. It'll get better."

Theon stiffened. Jeyne didn't even know him. Why would she think his worthless life would get better? But her hand stayed on his arm, and it felt good, and so he smiled.  
"Yeah," he said, giving himself hope out loud for the very first time. "It will."

#######

"So I know I told you about my abusive ex, like, five times already." Jeyne and Theon were at Theon's apartment now, and she was using duct tape to hang colored string lights across the walls of his apartment. "But I didn't tell you how bad it was. I didn't really feel that safe in the store, you know, and since I'd just met you, well, I didn't know how much I could share. But I want to tell you more. Can I?"

Theon stared at the lights she had hung. It was January--past the holiday season--and the lights hung unevenly with ameteur style. But they gave his place color, and warmth, and beauty, as though he were someone who deserved beauty after the messes he had made, and suddenly he realized his place almost felt like a home. 

"Sure," Theon said, and a new warmth welled up within him. The warmth of the joy of finally finding a friend. "Of course. You can tell me all about him."


End file.
